


Bathed in Grace

by StackerPentecost



Category: Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, M/M, Major Character Injury, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, the archive warning is just a precaution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StackerPentecost/pseuds/StackerPentecost
Summary: The Mute would do anything for Diarmuid and Diarmuid soon learns this firsthand.---For Day 3 of Diarmute week.
Relationships: Brother Diarmuid/The Mute
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Bathed in Grace

**Author's Note:**

> This was done for Day 3 of Diarmute week. The theme was sacrifice.

Diarmuid fell to his knees and bowed his head, clasping his hands together as he’d been taught and began to silently beg the Lord for mercy. Not for him, but for the man that lay just a few feet away in the other room, tended to by Diarmuid’s brothers. He had been barred from coming too close, as only those charged with healing could tend to the man, but even so, Diarmuid knew things were not looking well. The man known as the Mute had done something Diarmuid still could barely wrap his head around. 

The young monk had accompanied the older man to the market, as he had done many times before. Things, however, had not gone as planned. They had been accosted by a group of thieves on their way back to the monastery, the men clearly having laid in wait for the opportunity to take someone by surprise. Why they chose the Mute and his companion, he did not know. But the Mute was not a man to take such things without putting up a fight. He did not willingly give up their supplies from the market, instead handing them to Diarmuid before pushing the smaller man behind him as he faced off with the three unwelcome men. 

Diarmuid had stood frozen while the Mute smashed his face into the face of the first, knocking him to the ground as though he were nothing but an errant fly. He clapped his large hands over the ears of the second man, disorienting him before kicking him hard enough in the gut that he collapsed to the ground, wretching. Diarmuid expected the last man to go down all the same and he did, but not before he pulled a small dagger and drove it deep into the Mute’s gut. The young monk would never forget the almighty roar of rage the Mute had made, ripping the object out before plunging it into the man’s neck, blood splattering across the Mute’s face and hands. As soon as it was over, the Mute had fallen to his knees, gasping in pain. 

The rest was a blur. Diarmuid remembered little of how he got the other man back to the monastery, but he did remember calling out for his brothers, desperation clear in his voice. As soon as they got the Mute inside and onto a cot, his eyes had closed and they had not opened for since.

That had been nearly a week ago and now though the Mute was still alive, his body still breathing, Diarmuid feared his friend was gone forever, never to return. So Diarmuid did the only thing he knew how to do in a time such as this, he asked his Lord for help. He didn’t know how his Lord would respond, didn’t know if the Savior would see his plight as worthy of assistance, especially considering most of his brothers believed the Mute to be a nonbeliever. He wondered if they would be angry if they found him praying for a man supposedly without faith. At that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care what they would think if they saw him, for Diarmuid knew the best thing to do in times of crisis was to pray and so he did. 

He prayed for the Mute to recover, for God to put an end to his suffering and bring him back to the land of the waking. He prayed that the Lord would reward the Mute for his bravery and forgive him for the lives he had taken, be it recently or otherwise. He prayed that his brothers’ healing hands and own prayers be blessed and fruitful. He prayed that God would help ease the fear in his heart and help him to see the best path forward. He prayed again and again until he ran out of things to say. When he finished, he found his cheeks wet, but his heart calm. 

He rose, quietly making his way from the sanctuary into the small storage room where the Mute normally slept. He was grateful to find him alone. Looking up through the window above him, he realized from the darkened sky how late it must have been, which meant that his brothers must have gone to rest for the night. Hopefully, no one would notice his empty bed. 

Silently, Diarmuid settled down on the floor next to the Mute, watching his face in the flickering light from a candle the other monks had left. At that moment, he was struck by how beautiful his friend was, something that happened to him quite often. Diarmuid found himself wishing he could see those big brown eyes that he had grown to love. Instead, he hesitantly reached to take the Mute’s hand, entwining their fingers. It dwarfed his own and it was clammy like the rest of his body, but it made Diarmuid feel a little more in control. 

“You’re always looking out for me…” His voice was barely loud enough to detect, not wanting any of his brothers to hear and come looking. “You’ve done more for me than anyone has in my entire life.” Shakily, he brought the Mute’s hand up and pressed his lips to the cool skin. He knew his brothers would never understand such an act of affection but Diarmuid found he didn’t feel guilty about it. “You are the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time,” Diarmuid admitted, giving the Mute’s hand a squeeze. “I don’t know what I will do if you don’t come back to me.” He didn’t want to think about that.

The young monk tried to stay up for as long as he could, but in the end, his need for sleep won over. He let go of the Mute’s hand and retrieved a small blanket, laying it on the floor so he could rest next to the other man. But before he laid down, he got on his knees and prayed one last time. He then blew out the candle and lay down to rest, hoping the morning sun would bring with it some hope.

* * *

Diarmuid slept restlessly, dreaming of blood and swords and undue violence. When he woke, the sun had just barely broken the horizon, the first rays of sunlight filtering into the room. As he sat up, he noticed the sun’s beams had settled over the Mute’s form, lighting him up in golden sunshine. Diarmuid moved closer and pressed a hand to the Mute’s forehead, a small gasp leaving his lips when he found that the other man was no longer hot to the touch, meaning his fever had broken. Diarmuid almost could not believe it. Perhaps the Lord had answered his prayers after all?

That question was answered a moment later when the Mute’s eyes slowly opened, at first unfocused, before they warmed upon seeing Diarmuid. The monk felt like crying out in joy but refrained, instead carefully helping the Mute to sit up. He couldn’t stop smiling though, his heart beating fast in his chest. 

“I’d thought you’d left me,” Diarmuid told him, the relief on his face obvious.

The Mute managed a tired smile of his own and shook his head as if to say, ‘Never.’

Before Diarmuid could think better of it, his joy pushed him forward, cupping the Mute’s face so he could press their lips together. The older man froze and Diarmuid was afraid he would be pushed away, but then the Mute began to return his affection, running a hand through his curls. 

When they parted, they stayed close, heads resting together. The Mute was tired, his energy sapped from trying to stay alive, but his eyes revealed his happiness as he held Diarmuid close. He couldn’t have imagined waking to anything better. 

Silently, Diarmuid thanked the Lord for answering his prayers, especially when the Mute leaned in to kiss him again, making him feel as though he couldn’t be any more blessed. 

Diarmuid’s smile was still on his face as they sat together, watching the sun rise into the sky, bathing them both in golden light.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm saintaleksander on Tumblr.


End file.
